Page 133 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
“I wrote to you, when she died. You never answered,” I say with my eyes downcast.
His jaw hangs slightly askew as he rubs his chin with a tired hand. “I’m afraid I didn’t read many of the letters I got that year. Especially the ones sent by strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger,” I croak, the emotions in my gut threatening to choke me.
“You know what I mean. I wouldn’t have recognized your handwriting—or even your name. You were a stranger to me, then.”
I inhale deeply, willing away the tears that threaten to spill over my lids. It’s so unfair, so cruel, that Thera erased something sacred to me. That she dared to mess with the very essence of Aidan, if the Lord of the Tides is to be believed.
“I can get us out of here, but I’ll have to sing,” I declare, quickly making up my mind about it.
“Sing?” Seth interjects.
“I’m part siren,” I grumble.
It’s a damning secret for a young Fae attending the Royal Academy and hoping for a place at court—or to become queen—but it’s not as problematic for an eccentric, self-exiled artist. Just the thought that I used to feel so much shame about my very blood and once considered never singing again dries my mouth.
“That’s…drastic,” Aidan grounds out.
“Do either of you have a better idea?” I ask the two men, but our bindings prevent us from using our usual powers.
If I ever hope to find a way to reverse Aidan’s memory lapse, we have to stop the Lord of the Tides before he finalizes his plan. The need to regain control over our fates—to fight back—burns like acid at the back of my throat.
“Didn’t you sing at Elio’s wedding?” Seth asks. “How come the crowd didn’t go all crazy, then?”
“I’ve trained myself not to induce unhealthy obsessions and mindless lust in my audience. A siren’s song is not always used as a weapon. It can be quite beautiful and healing. But just as I can leave that part out, I can also crank it up by design.” I smooth out my torn dress, feeling nauseous.
Unease creeps into my chest at the prospect of using my song as the dreaded instrument of violence most people believe it to be. And I’m not sure how Aidan and Seth will react, because if I aim to make a strong, lasting impression on our kidnapper, they’re going to be affected, too.
“If I get him to free me, would that be enough?” I muse.
“Could you steal the keys to the shackles? He keeps them in the top pocket of his cloak.”
Aidan nods emphatically at Seth’s suggestion. “Yes, the keys. This way, we can free ourselves while you distract him.”
“Alright, but if we’re going to do this, find something to plug your ears. Loose threads, or dust bunnies. Anything to lessen the thrall of the song. I’ve never sang to bewitch a Fae, especially not at sea, so I’m not sure how powerful the spell will be.”
Aidan moves behind me, taking the advice seriously as he crams small pieces of lint in his ears.
“How can you even be sure your song will work on my brother?” Seth asks. “He’s very powerful.”
I press my lips together. The hard lessons I learned after I left Faerie for the new world, taught by my dear Mélusine, still live in me. “The more powerful the Fae, the harder the fall.”
The hatch on top of the ladder leading to the upper deck rattles on its hinges, a stream of light illuminating the opposite end of the cargo hold.
“Here he comes. Quick!” Seth whispers loud enough for me to hear.
Luther climbs down the ladder, his eyes no longer covered by a thick mask. He’s young, I realize, younger than I’d expected. Barely out of puberty by the shape of his plump cheekbones. Dark curls fall over his forehead, his eyes gray but for the purple flecks shared by the Storm family.
He’s holding a food tray in his hand, his shiny black boots gleaming in the faint glow of twilight. “Oh, you’re all awake.” He squints at Aidan, then me, pausing at the bottom. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m just here to feed Seth.”
“What about us?” Aidan asks.
Luther titters, grinning at him the way you grin at a naughty child. “I think you can survive one day without food, Fancy.”
I open my mouth and let all the confusion, anger, and heartbreak I’ve been carrying with me condense into the vibrations of my vocal chords. A high note tears from my lungs, reaching into the depths of my soul and reverberating through my bones.
All my years of training, learning hownotto hurt or enchant or even influence people with my voice, used in reverse.
